


So much stays unknown till the time has come

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on holiday in 2011, Louis has an unexpected visitor from his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So much stays unknown till the time has come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [checkthemargins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/gifts).



> Written for checkthemargins as part of the [Best Boys Summer Smut Exchange](http://bestboys.livejournal.com/). Ayla, you're wonderful and I really hope you like this! <33
> 
> As always, this is fiction and no reflection on actual people or events.
> 
> Title from Beth Orton. Thanks to [balefully](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully) for cheerleading and an extra pair of eyes.

A shadow crosses in front of him, and Louis looks up from his phone, squinting at the silhouette. It's a man, half-buttoned shirt giving a glimpse of the tattoos across his collarbones and down his chest. "Mind shifting a bit to your left, mate?” Louis says. “You're blocking my sun." He's been at the hotel pool for an hour, and he's well settled for a few more while his mum takes the girls sightseeing.

The man pushes his sunglasses up into the curly mane of his hair and grins. "You can always fake tan, Lou."

His voice doesn't make any sense with that face, that body, and Louis is startled into sitting upright. "Harry?” He shades a hand over his eyes, looking up at the man’s square jaw, the sharp definition of his chest beneath the open shirt. Maybe some kind of prosthetic, moulded over the softness of Harry’s still growing body. “What the fuck? Is this some sort of joke?" He looks round in case there's a camera, in case this is payback for the Nickelodeon thing.

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t step up for a hug or anything, just stands there with his hands in his pockets. "Not exactly. Do you think we could, like, go inside and talk a bit?"

Harry, this weird, tattooed version of Harry, looks so serious that Louis says, "Alright, mate. Sure."

He takes Harry up to his hotel room, and it’s odd not to be sharing with anyone, to have the room all to himself. He feels too formal, stood beside the bed, wondering if he should ask Harry to sit down. It’s not like it usually is with them, where Louis feels like he can say any rubbish that comes into his head and Harry will laugh and go along with it. He doesn’t know what Harry’s playing at, but he doesn’t like it at all.

“It’s alright, Lou,” says Harry, and now that he’s not backlit by the sun Louis can see how much older he looks, taller and broader and there are little lines at the corners of his eyes, years of smiles Louis hasn’t seen. “I know this is weird. But I came from the future, just to see you.”

“Bullshit,” says Louis, taking a step back instinctively. “You can’t have bloody time travelled.”

“I did though. You know me now. You know this isn’t the me you know.” He waves a hand up and down, gives a lopsided smile. “Or something.”

A reluctant little part of Louis believes him at once, but he doesn’t want to be caught in a prank. “Alright,” says Louis. “Tell me something about the future then.”

Harry’s smile turns sad. “That would be cheating.”

“So coming from the future isn’t, but telling me about it is? What sort of sense does that make?”

“It’s just the way it is,” says Harry.

Louis moves closer again, reaching out a hand to touch his face, slightly rough with stubble, although it looks like Harry will never be able to grow a proper beard. There’s no makeup on him, no prosthetics squaring off his jaw or bulking up his shoulders when Louis slides his hands down to feel those too, smoothing hard muscle under his fingers. It’s true then. His senses tell him what logic can’t. “Will I look like this in the future?” Louis asks.

Harry’s just staring at his face, sending an unwanted rush of heat through Louis’s whole body. “You’ll be beautiful.”

Louis barely thinks about where his hands are when he’s touching Harry usually, but that’s his Harry, and Louis is suddenly acutely aware of the flex of older Harry’s biceps under his hands, the way he hasn’t stepped back even though he probably should.

“We’ve kissed, right?” says Harry, and Louis’s eyes go to his mouth, the plush pink of it. “That’s already happened?”

“Yeah,” says Louis quietly. They’d been drunk the first time, just after he broke things off with Hannah, trying to impress some fit girls at a club Harry wasn’t technically old enough to get into. And that was fine, that was just messing about, even if it hadn’t got them laid in the end. But the next time had been in their flat, no one to see. Louis had been working up an impressive lovebite on the side of Harry’s neck while Harry watched some rubbish cooking program, normal stuff for a Saturday afternoon, and every time Harry swatted him away, Louis came right back, expanding the bruise until it was storm-cloud dark and the size of a 50p. And then one time instead of shoving Louis back yet again, Harry had kissed him, bent down and caught Louis’s swollen mouth with his. Louis had been caught off guard, but that doesn’t explain the way he’d opened to it, pressing his tongue into Harry’s mouth, pushing himself up on the back of the sofa for a better angle to deepen the kiss.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” says Harry, like he might not know the answer, and Louis burns with shame, but he can’t lie now like he had at the time, laughing into Harry’s open mouth and pushing away like he hadn’t felt anything at all.

“Yeah,” says Louis. “I liked it.”

Harry cups his chin, fingertips against the racing beat of Louis’s pulse as he makes Louis look him in the eye. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Lou. I liked it. It’s great that you did too.”

Louis looks away, pulling out of Harry’s grasp. “Mate, you may be from the future, but that doesn’t mean I need you to tell me how great it is to be gay.”

“You don’t have to be gay,” says Harry. “You could be bi, or, like, you don’t have to put a label on it if you don’t want. But you liked it. And that’s okay. Anything you like would be okay.”

“It was just kissing. Hardly worth time traveling over.” This is fucked up, it honestly is, and Harry’s got to know that. Whatever he’s here for, it can’t be about a little snog between friends. “Shouldn’t you be telling me how to prevent an apocalypse or something?”

Harry smiles. “Haven’t had one of those yet, so we’ll both be fucked if it comes to that. But it wasn’t just kissing.” Louis squirms under his steady gaze. “I wanted more than that. And I reckon you did too.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. He put the whole thing to the back of his mind with everything else he never wants to think about again. Wanting more isn’t an option, and if he sometimes thinks about it when he’s all by himself and his defences are down, that’s none of Harry’s goddamn business, present or future.

“Please,” says Harry. “If there’s anyone in the world you can say it to, it’s me. We’re still best mates, aren’t we? We still have that, right?”

There’s something about the way his voice catches that makes Louis’s stomach pitch sharply. He hasn’t imagined a world where he and Harry stop being best mates, and he doesn’t want to. “Do we still live together when you’re from?” he asks.

“I can’t answer that,” says Harry, which is obviously a no because Harry isn’t less shit of a liar however many years on.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” They could be married and settled and be whole different people in ten years’ time. Apparently they might be people who aren’t even friends. Louis feels hollowed out by the thought, knows that whatever happened between now and then was almost certainly his fault.

“And what are you doing here, really?” Louis asks.

“I just want you to know it’s okay. If you want things. Like, with men. That’s alright. You need to know that’s alright.” There’s this weird edge to his voice that Louis tries to ignore.

“Then it’s okay if I don’t as well,” Louis says stubbornly.

Harry kisses him. He has to bend down to do it, and Louis nearly dodges away, but Harry gets a big hand on the back of his neck and holds him in place, licks at Louis’s lower lip until Louis gives in, opening to the melting heat of Harry’s mouth. And he can’t deny it then, the way he goes week-kneed with Harry kissing him, the way he wants to press closer. He settles his hands on Harry’s waist to steady himself as he goes up on his toes, rubbing his tongue over Harry’s, pulling their bodies into alignment.

“Tell me you want it, Lou,” says Harry, sliding his hands down Louis’s back, fingers slipping into the back pockets of Louis’s shorts, rubbing over his arse. “Don’t lie to yourself.”

“Shut up,” says Louis, trying to angle in for another kiss. But Harry is having none of it, pulling back to tease Louis with the sight of his reddened lips.

“Tell me,” he says again. “It’s alright, but you have to tell me you want it.”

Louis cringes, but he says it. “I want it.” His voice sounds small and pathetic, pleading.

“What do you want? Can you say it? Can you tell me you want me to kiss you?”

That’s a step too far. “Right, fuck off then.” He squirms out of Harry’s arms, finds himself backed into the wall. “I don’t need your little mind games. I like kissing. Oh, how unusual. If you’ve proved your point, you can go.”

“It’s not like that,” pleads Harry. “Lou, please. It’s alright. Just let me show you.”

“Show me what?”

“You can’t even say it. It’s not that you like kissing, it’s that you like kissing _me_. You like kissing me, but you hate that you might be something other than one hundred per cent straight. And I just want you to know, you don’t have to hate it.”

Louis folds his arms across his chest, wishes he’d worn a shirt to the pool so he didn’t have to think about Harry’s hands on his bare skin. “I’m fine, mate, cheers. I know loads of happy homosexuals living their lives in peace or whatever. I don’t need to be one of them.”

“You’ve really never thought about it?”

“Can’t say I have, no.”

“You’ve never thought about my hands on you? Or my mouth? You’ve never listened to me having a wank in the next bed and thought you might help?”

Louis is angry enough to keep his face blank, his voice steady. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you, mate? This what it’s like in the future then? Your head’s got so big you can’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t want you?”

Harry’s face falls, and Louis sees that’s a direct hit. He reckons it’s good to know that Harry’s buttons haven’t changed. Except that hurting Harry has always been the worst thing he could think of, even this older version of him who doesn’t know when to stop fucking pushing. “Right,” says Harry. “Okay. Sorry. I’ll go if you like. I just thought I could help. Thought it might be easier with someone you don’t have to see again for ten years.”

“What makes you think I need any help at all?”

Harry’s smile is sad. “That’s sort of what ‘from the future’ means, mate. Look, just be careful. I love you.”

Louis feels lost, unravelled and uncertain. This Harry knows things about him, things he hasn’t even thought of yet. He holds out a hand to stop him going. “Wait. So hypothetically, what do you want me to do?”

“Kiss me,” says Harry. “Just tell me how it feels when you’re kissing me.”

Louis steps close to him again, tips his face up in invitation. “Okay.”

Harry kisses him again, and this time he’s ready for it, for the slick slide of Harry’s tongue against his, and the way his hands wander to Louis’s hips, holding him up for it. Louis trembles on his tiptoes, feeling small and overwhelmed, Harry’s mouth moving gently over his, drawing out the kiss until Louis feels lightheaded and too warm. When Harry pulls away this time, Louis makes a soft, frustrated noise, wants to chase after him. “How was that?” says Harry softly.

“Good,” says Louis. It’s an understatement, and he can’t stop the want welling up in his belly. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to the corner of Harry’s. Harry lets him, falls back into kissing him, sucking at Louis’s tongue until Louis whimpers. He’s tense all over, trying to keep his balance as he leans up into Harry, and when Harry tugs him down onto the bed Louis goes without a fight, curling halfway into Harry’s lap without thinking, just trying to get closer. He gets his hands into Harry’s hair, buries his fingers in the thick tangle of it and holds on. 

If he was trying to make the point that he didn’t want more than this, he’s failing, his dick pressing painfully behind his zip as Harry lays him out on the bed, leans down to keep kissing him. He spreads a hand over Louis’s ribs, making him gasp ticklishly as he strokes lower, sweeping his hand over the softness of Louis’s waist. Harry is so much bigger than he is, so grown up, long and lean and hard when Louis reaches out for him, bunching his fingers in the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“Still good?” asks Harry, pressing a kiss to the curve of Louis’s collarbone, nuzzling up the side of his neck.

“Yeah,” says Louis. He won’t say more than that, and even Harry can’t make him.

“I want to blow you,” Harry tells him, rubbing his knuckles along the inside of Louis’s thigh, up towards his straining dick. “You might want that too.”

It feels so good having Harry’s hands on him, and Louis takes a deep breath, trying to find it in himself to say no. He doesn’t want Harry to be right about him, about all the things he wants that he can’t ever, ever have. But this isn’t even his Harry, the one he’ll have to look in the face next week when he goes home. “You won’t tell anyone?” says Louis. “If I say I want it, you won’t tell?”

Harry frowns. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lou. You need to learn that. I could suck your dick in the middle of Leicester Square and it wouldn’t make you a bad person. Well, like, we’d probably be arrested, but you wouldn’t be a bad person.” Harry looks up with a hopeful little smile that makes him seem younger.

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, Styles,” Louis sighs, but it’s like he would say to his Harry, helplessly fond. He’s crumbling. And he knows Harry can see it too.

Harry strokes up over Louis’s hip, fingertips sliding in close to his dick and then away again. “Tell me you want it. Just admit it to yourself, and I’ll give you everything you need.”

Louis arches up into the next sweep of Harry’s hand. “Want it,” he whispers, nearly too soft to hear.

“Good,” says Harry, reaching for Louis’s flies. “Me too.” He wraps a strong, certain hand around Louis’s cock, and they both watch it thicken in his grip, beading wet at the tip as Harry smoothes his thumb over it. Louis’s so worked up already, fidgeting uselessly as Harry pushes his shorts down his thighs, leaving him naked.

Harry knows how to touch him already, how to vary his strokes, how to twist his wrist in just the way Louis likes best, and Louis shuts his eyes and realises that for him, this must not be new. This Harry comes from a future where he’s touched Louis enough to be used to him, and it’s awful and hot and makes Louis want to push away and pull him closer all at once. 

When Harry slips away, Louis throws an arm over his mouth to stifle the hurt noise he makes. But Harry’s touching him again almost immediately, stroking up Louis’s thighs as he leans in to suck at the slick head of Louis’s cock. He takes Louis in with shallow little bobs at first, teasing over his slit with the tip of his tongue, making Louis squirm and moan under him, try to thrust up against Harry’s hands pinning his hips.

The first time Harry takes him in all the way, Louis gasps and reaches out for him, grabbing at Harry’s hair as wet heat surrounds him root to tip. He’s had a fair few blowjobs in his life, but Harry is something else, cheeks hollowing as he laps at Louis’s cock, one hand sneaking up to cup his balls. Louis’s close before he knows it, rocking into Harry’s mouth, biting his lips to keep from crying out.

“Not yet, babe,” says Harry, pulling off to kiss his thighs, the tight weight of his balls, tongue smoothing over the soft skin behind, back nearly to the pucker of his arsehole. “But this is good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” breathes Louis. He wants to ask if they do this in Harry’s future, if it ever feels less strange, less like being flayed alive. Harry presses a kiss to the dripping head of his dick.

“This is what you’ve wanted,” Harry says, and it isn’t even a question this time. Louis should protest, but Harry knows more than he does about his body right now. Harry bites his lip as he looks up, hair falling into his eyes. “Can I show you more?”

Louis gives a tight little nod. He’s never going to have a chance like this again. “Go on,” he says, but he’s not expecting Harry to push his thighs apart and lick over his arsehole, hands gripping tight on his cheeks to make room in the deep split between. “Fuck,” says Louis when he means to say “no,” and Harry licks him again, long and slow. He’s excruciatingly sensitive there, and he never knew that and never wanted to know, the breath knocked out of him when Harry’s tongue wriggles into his hole, opening him up with gentle, insistent pressure. He wants to tell Harry to stop, because that’s so dirty, so completely fucking wrong, but he can’t make himself say it, the tip of Harry’s tongue starting to press into him more deeply, making him want to squirm back onto it.

If he thought Harry was good at sucking cock, it was nothing compared to this. Louis’s toes curl against the end of the bed as he’s spread wider for Harry’s mouth, the slippery flicker of his tongue and the light suction of his parted lips. He’s afraid he might cry, pressure building inside him, winding him up tight, and he’s so hard he can barely think, his cock heavy against his heaving belly.

“You love this,” Harry tells him, rubbing a fingertip over Louis’s arsehole, slick with his spit. He dips the tip inside, enough for Louis to feel pried open by it, enough that he knows he could take more.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to tell me about the future,” Louis replies, shifting his hips a little.

“I don’t mean the future,” says Harry, his breath making Louis’s skin tingle. “I mean right now.” He circles Louis’s hole, presses inward again and forces a helpless little moan from Louis’s throat. “Unless you want me to stop.”

Louis wishes he did. But he shakes his head. “Don’t.”

Harry gets him dripping wet before pushing a finger into his arse, but it burns anyway, this edge of pain that doesn’t stop him wanting it. He rolls his head back against the pillow and lets Harry fuck into him, relaxing for it, spreading his legs wider and inviting Harry in.

“You look so good like this,” says Harry. He takes Louis’s balls into his mouth for a moment, sucks at the tight heat of them, one and then the other. Louis’s painfully hard, but Harry’s ignoring the stiff jut of his cock, kissing the seam of Louis’s balls, scraping his teeth over the tender skin so lightly that Louis loses his breath. “You never look better than you do like this.”

“Never?” asks Louis, trying to distract himself from the desperation coiling in his belly. “Not in the whole time you’ve known me?”

Harry shoves his finger in deeper, hooks it upward and makes Louis gasp. “You can’t trick me into telling you about the future.” His fingers are so long, and Louis wonders if they were always like that, or if it’s something he has yet to grow into. “Have you ever done this before?” Harry says. “By yourself?” Harry’s finger’s worked as deep into his arse as it can go, opening him up, his knuckle pressed snugly to Louis’s rim.

“Don’t you know?” Louis asks, clenching on Harry’s finger, trying to ease the pressure of it.

Harry hesitates before he says, “No.” He sits up, crawls up Louis’s body to kiss him, leaving his bum alone for a minute, although Louis feels empty and sore. Louis tries not to think about where Harry’s mouth has been as he opens to his tongue. “You haven’t, have you?” Harry says, sounding sad. “Would’ve been too gay, I reckon.”

“Yep,” says Louis, lips practically touching Harry’s still. He’s got a keen sense of the irony, but he wants Harry to touch him again.

“This is alright though, isn’t it?” Harry’s nearly begging him, and Louis doesn’t know why, except he must have fucked up pretty bad to make Harry come all the way here, to make him feel like he had to prove a point. And the truth is, it isn’t really all right. It’s too much and too weird and Louis doesn’t want to feel this way. “You like it. When you just let yourself.”

Louis says nothing, kisses him again as Harry pets a hand over the curve of his hip, wraps long fingers around his dick and gives a gentle stroke. He wants so much more than that, his arsehole still throbbing and sticky with Harry’s spit, but he won’t ask.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Harry says, knowing just what Louis’s squirming means without being told. His dick is a heavy weight in his threadbare jeans, pressed to Louis’s bare thigh, and Louis has seen him at seventeen and can only assume he’s bigger now.

“Wouldn’t work,” says Louis, rubbing his thigh a bit against the bulge of Harry’s cock, teasing himself with the thought.

“Like to bet on that?”

“No.”

Harry’s laugh is just the same as always, and Louis can’t help smiling up at him, really looking at his face, the familiar arch of his eyebrows and his deep dimples. “You never turn down a bet unless you know you’re going to lose.” Harry says. His lip graze Louis’s ear. “And you would lose. Because if you just admit you want it, I can make you come so fucking hard on my cock.”

Louis whimpers, his dick jumping against his belly. Every part of his body is already telling Harry yes, and why the fuck should he have to say it too? Defiant, he closes his eyes and presses his burning face against the pillow.

Harry reaches in between his legs, stroking over Louis’s sore hole, not trying to push inside, not yet. “You won’t stop wanting it,” Harry says softly, kissing the side of Louis’s neck. “It’s always going to be there, no matter how much you deny it, how much you push it down, how much you hate yourself for it.”

It stings like peeling back his own skin, realising how much Harry knows about him. He’s already taken Louis so much farther than he ever meant to go. Louis spreads his legs even wider, giving Harry more space to roam in. “Don’t make me ask,” he says finally, sounding so small, and Harry kisses him again, soft lips and slow tongue.

Louis reaches for the buttons on Harry’s shirt, wanting to see exactly what he’s giving into, and when Harry shrugs it off, his whole torso is a canvas full of tattoos, strings of doodles down his arms, a giant butterfly across the tanned span of his ribs. There are more and more of them everywhere Louis looks, everywhere he runs his hands because he can’t seem to get enough of Harry’s skin. He doesn’t even like tattoos, but he wants to ask about them, every single one marking out some experience they haven’t had yet. Although Harry wouldn’t tell him anything anyway.

Harry’s jeans are skintight, and he has to shimmy out of them, dipping into one pocket to retrieve a little sachet of lube before he peels them down his thighs. It hits Louis all over again that Harry always knew this was coming, knew what Louis wanted from the moment he walked up to him at the pool. Somewhere in Louis’s future, this is going to happen again, and then it’s going to stop, and he still doesn’t know why.

Harry’s cock looks enormous as he fits himself into the space between Louis’s thighs, settling their hips together. Harry rubs two slick fingertips over Louis’s hole, gets them into him nice and slow and easy, but Louis can’t stop staring at the length and breadth of his cock. He’s opened up thoroughly on two fingers and then three, breathing through the ache of it, Harry murmuring praise into his open mouth. “You’re so gorgeous,” he says, and, “You’re taking it so well.” He pulls back every time Louis tightens up on him, strokes him loose and wet all over again, and Louis has needed to come for so long, but now it’s absolutely bloody painful trying to hold back. And the only reason he does it is because Harry keeps telling him “not yet” and he knows there’s something better coming. The three fingers in his arse are twisting and pulling at him, making him feel the full length of them on every hitching breath.

Harry doesn’t say anything before he pulls out, and Louis whines in dismay, cupping a hand over the throbbing emptiness of his hole. Harry kisses his cheek, nuzzles at the side of his face. The head of his cock is dragging along the inside of Louis’s thigh. “Relax for me, Lou,” Harry says. “You’re going to love this, I promise.”

He hitches Louis’s legs up higher, guides his cock into the slick crack of Louis’s arse, rubbing it over his hole. And Louis knows, in the first burning moment Harry pushes inside, that Harry is absolutely right about him. He loses his breath on a moan as Harry works into him on a long, slow thrust, can’t help the way his hips buck and his toes curl. He’s filled up with Harry’s cock, the whole length of it gripped tight in his arse before he can even worry that it won’t fit. “Feels good, yeah?” asks Harry.

Louis bites his lip and nods, dizzy with need blended with shame. He shouldn’t want this so much, but he sobs as Harry pulls out of him, grips his legs tight around Harry’s hips to pull him in again. It’s a struggle not to beg as Harry fucks him harder, and Louis’s stiff cock is slapping against his belly, smearing precome. 

“Reckon you could come like this,” Harry tells him, and Louis knows he’s speaking from experience, that every roll of his hips is something he’s already practised on Louis’s body. He pounds into Louis’s arse faster and faster, big cock pinning Louis down, taking him apart. When Harry leans down to kiss him, Louis’s cock drags over his belly, and that’s all it takes for Louis to come, gasping and clutching at Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s cock is still deep inside him, and he clenches down tight on it, trembling hard, nearly sobbing in relief. “God,” sighs Harry, “look at you.”

His thrusts slow again, but he doesn’t stop, still working deep into Louis’s sensitive hole, looking down at Louis with the softest, sweetest smile on his face. Whatever is behind that smile, Louis couldn’t possibly deserve it. He has to look away, Harry kissing his neck, his shoulder, the arch of his collarbone, whispering meaninglessly into his skin.

Harry doesn’t announce it when he comes, just groans and shudders into Louis, fills him up with wet heat, his hips working in slow, uneven circles. It’s so quiet after, as Harry settles into him, heavy and clinging. Harry’s hair smells just like Louis’s used to, and he buries his nose in it, breathing in deeply. It’s like fucking vertigo, the sudden burst of the familiar in the middle of all this, Harry’s dick going soft inside him. Louis thinks he might cry, until he realises Harry’s already crying, slow wet tears dripping into Louis’s hair.

Harry slips out of Louis’s arse as he sits up and wipes at his eyes. Louis grimaces, come slithering down between his cheeks. “Alright?” asks Harry.

Louis shrugs. “Not a bit.”

Harry ducks his head in a sheepish nod. “Least you’re honest. I’ve missed that.”

Louis folds himself up against the headboard, wrapping his arms around his knees. He’s sore in a new, intimate way, but he doesn’t want to think about that. “Harry, why are you here?”

“I just want you to know this is alright,” says Harry. “You’re alright.”

“Crying about sex is surely going to convince me of that,” replies Louis.

Harry’s face falls. “It’s not about the sex, Lou. That was incredible. Wasn’t it?”

It was. It was by far the most amazing, confusing sex of Louis’s life. He doesn’t say it, but he thinks Harry knows anyway.

“It’s going to be alright,” Harry says. He reaches out to squeeze Louis’s ankle. “Even if it isn’t right now, it will be.”

“Will it? Isn’t that cheating to tell me?”

“Platitudes aren’t cheating.” Harry stands up, and Louis notices more tattoos down low on his hips, wants to study them. Harry’s grown up long and lean, like time has just stretched him out.

“I’m never going to be as tall as you, am I?” he says sadly.

“You’re going to be perfect.” Harry stumbles into his jeans, looks around for his shirt.

“Is that it then?” Louis asks. “And now you leave?”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Now I leave.”

“Lots to get back to?”

“Always. I’m a busy bee.”

Louis makes himself get up, ignoring the slick throb of his arsehole. He steps up in front of Harry and looks him square in the eye. “Why are you here?” he repeats.

Harry looks as though he might cry again. He presses a kiss to Louis’s cheek. “Just take care of yourself, Lou. Remember you’re worth it. And I love you.”

“In ten years you love me. Lovely.”

“I always love you.” Harry swallows thickly. “Always.”

He won’t say any more, no matter how Louis stares him down. “I love you too,” Louis says finally.

When Harry leaves, Louis shuts the door behind him, slips back into bed, and cries himself out in sheets smelling of sex and Harry’s shampoo. Sometime in the next ten years, he’s going to break Harry’s heart and lose the best friend he’s ever had. And as of right now, he has no idea how to stop it from happening.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://realmenwearpuppypants.tumblr.com/).


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